Roman G's Diary Entry of an Evacuee

Dear Diary,

Last night, I had the worst sleep of my life. The night was plagued by nightmares; I fear that whistle more than anything. I slowly washed and dressed myself, ignoring the suitcase in the corner. I could hear my mother crying but when I went downstairs she gave me a weak smile and gave me my favourite breakfast: Toast and jam with a big mug of tea. After she had given me this, she went back to crying into a handkerchief. I wanted to comfort her, make it all better, but I had bigger things on my mind. I was going to be an evacuee.

Suddenly, a shrill whistle could be heard. All down the street, doors started opening, children pouring out like water through a dam. I walked to the station, quiet as a lion stalking its prey, holding my mum’s hand as if I would never let go. Once on the platform, my mother gave me a bag. She told me it was food for the journey and that she loved me very, very much. Then a lady came along and put a label around my neck. I felt like a doll in the giant shop of life. All too soon, I heard the conductor shout “All aboard!” and it was time to leave.

There was a strange mix of excitement and sadness in the train; some thought of it as an adventure, others thought of it as torture. Leaving the smoke and buildings of the city far behind us, we were speeding through the countryside like a rabbit being chased by a fox. I peeked inside my small brown bag and saw a packet of biscuits, some condensed milk in a can  and a giant Cadbury’s chocolate bar. I wondered how mother could have afforded that. It must have cost a fortune! There was a lot of talking about where we were going and what we were doing. But, when the train started to slow, the chatter died down and an eerie silence spread through the train.

We were herded like cattle into the village hall and checked off against a huge list of names by a smartly dressed woman with a rather patronising tone. I was feeling exhausted when we were told to sit smartly and wait quietly on hard wooden chairs. Only fear kept me awake. People were coming in and picking children. I sat there for what felt like hours until I was finally chosen. I don't know what was more scary: being picked or being left alone in the village hall.

The roughly dressed man who had eventually chosen me, turned out to be a farmer. The farmhouse was a small, cosy cottage. I had my own room and absolutely loved it. Everything was different, and I didn't understand a lot of the jobs the farmer asked me to do. Luckily, he was a very kind, understanding and helpful man and has taught me lots of new skills. Other evacuees have not been so lucky; I saw one being beaten and others have not been given enough food.

While I am happy here, I am scared that I will never see my mother again. I hear news of the awful bombing in London and hope that my mother is keeping safe.